To Love
by Dragon Pearl1
Summary: Jakotsu loves Bankotsu, but it is a different love than what he is used to.


A/N: Man, has it really been this long since I wrote something for these two? Well, enjoy everyone!

To Love

Jakotsu loves Bankotsu. He thinks Bankotsu is the only man he will ever love.

He likes Mukotsu and Suikotsu and everyone else – well, except for Renkotsu-no-Aniki sometimes because he's a bit mean – and he really,_ really_ likes Inuyasha, but it's different when it comes to Bankotsu. When it comes to Bankotsu, it's love.

Jakotsu doesn't understand it at first. He's always thought that the person he loves would be someone whom he could tease and hurt and keep around, like an amusing toy. Someone handsome and manly and scream most delightfully at night. Not Bankotsu-no-Ooaniki. Not Bankotsu-no-Ooaniki who laughs along with him at the site of a burning village, who drinks sake with him under the full moon, and who will face him in a fight, heads on, anytime, anywhere.

But maybe it's not Bankotsu that he does not understand. Maybe it's love. Love, love, love, love like what? Love like his mother and father who shouted and yelled at each other at the best of times? Love like between him and his brothers – fake brothers, brothers tied by blood instead of faith and not like the Shichinin-tai _at all_ – when they fought and argued? Or love like fairytales and fables passed down through the ages about princesses and rabbits on the moon?

His love is what he does, or so he thinks. Love when he hunts the men down – cute men, so cute, so adorable it makes him _sick_ – and kill them. Kill because he loves. Kill because how else will he make them meet his eyes? Love is what makes him make _them_ bleed. Blood is pretty and how is it any more wrong to want those you love to be prettier?

But then Bankotsu had been hurt. It was a girl left alive to pour the sake as per his whims, but the girl had a dagger and with it, she drew blood. Bankotsu-no-Ooaniki's blood. Blood is beautiful. Bankotsu is very, very handsome with blood on his skin. But only if the blood is not his.

Ooaniki's blood is red, burning red like leaves in autumn, and he knows this colour like the back of his hand. Jakotsu does not know why he cares more for Ooaniki's blood than he does for others, and he does not know why the sight of it had enraged him so. It made something happen. Something happen inside his mind, and the next thing he had knew, the girl was dead and he was stabbing at her mangled corpse with the Jakotsutou even after her disgusting, disgusting body was rendered beyond recognition.

Bankotsu was the one who had pulled him away, and he had snarled at him, snarled _Let me go, let me go, that bitch needs to learn her place, let me go or I will hurt you too._

_You won't do that_, Bankotsu had said, eyes serious, and that was enough to freeze him in his tracts.

It's true. Jakotsu realises that day he hates the sight of Bankotsu's blood. It is no less gorgeous than that of someone else's, but to Jakotsu, the source of blood is always more important than the blood itself. Nobody is allowed to see Ooaniki's blood because nobody is allowed to draw it. Not some peasant slut girl and not him either. Other men's blood makes him exited and aroused, but he will _kill_ anyone who dares to spill Bankotsu's blood.

He thinks that is when he realised he might be in love.

The thought had filled his mind with its buzzing, humming wings, and it had made his head light and heart heavy like he was sick or drunk or drowning. He was in love. He is in love.

Then something goes wrong.

It is in the summer. The skies are blue and clear, and everyone, after a successful mission, is relaxed and cheerful when the announcement is made for that night. Two people to a room, and he is sharing a futon with Bankotsu. This is nothing new. He has slept with Bankotsu more times than he could count, but this time, he is in love.

As the sun has steals away and the night falls, droning wings fill his mind again when they ready themselves for bed. He fiddles with his hair, on edge, because he is not sure what he is supposed to do. He knows what he could do. He could do to Bankotsu what he does to the other men that he loves, enough to make his friend hate him for life, and he could do it now and fast before anyone else has a chance to interfere. The moonlight streams in from the doorway, bathing his figure in a sickly manner, and Jakotsu sits perfectly still at the end of the futon, like a ghost or spectre ready for haunting.

_What's wrong?_ Bankotsu asks in a worried tone as he lowers himself down for sleep. _Aren't you tired after today?_

Words quiver at his lips because he knows what he does to those he loves, and if he loves Bankotsu should he not do the same to him? But Jakotsu would rather die than hurt his friend. Rather die, rather face the fires of hell, rather bite through his tongue and slice off his hands than to hurt Bankotsu, but oh, he is in love. He is in love so he _will_ hurt his Ooaniki, and he does not want that to happen – cannot _allow_ that to happen.

Bankotsu smiles up at him and pulls him down to him – with so much force, but so gentle at the same time – and whispers, _Silly. Go to bed. I don't know what's bothering you, but things will always be better in the morning._

There is nothing he can say to that. He lies there, body taunt, and Ooaniki notices, of course he does, but he does not say a thing. Bankotsu, Jakotsu realises, trusts him. Trusts him to tell him if it is important, trusts him and in his abilities to sort out his own problems, and trusts him enough that he will lay himself beside Jakotsu unarmed and neck bare. The weight of the trust settles over him, like a blanket, and he buries himself in its warmth. If Bankotsu can trust him, Jakotsu thinks, then he can trust himself. He closes his eyes and waits.

A soft wind blows, and the night is silent – still. There are monsters in the forests, demons in the waters, and creatures of unfathomable evil that circle the skies above, but when Jakotsu lies beside Bankotsu, he is not afraid. Maybe Ooaniki is right. Maybe things will be better in the morning. When he drifts off to sleep, Bankotsu's hand is still on Jakotsu's wrist.

Morning comes too soon when the sunlight hits his face with an unrelenting ferocity, and he blinks, blinks again, before taking in what has happened. The bedding is tangled around them and so are they around each other. Bankotsu is half lying, half sprawled on Jakotsu's chest, and the expression he is wearing in his slumber is almost angelic.

Jakotsu pushes at him. _Ooaniki. Ooaniki. Wake up._

Bankotsu shifts and makes a small sound. He is heavy.

_Ooaniki. _Bankotsu still does not move, and if Renkotsu-no-Aniki walks in, Jakotsu would never hear the end of it. _Ooaniki, you are sleeping on me._

One push, two push, and then Bankotsu curls in even tighter and mumbles out, _Just a bit more. 'S early._

_'S not._

His Ooaniki mumbles out something else, but it is too quiet for him to hear. It does not matter, however because Bankotsu has already fallen back to sleep.

Jakotsu does not understand it. He does not understand why he hates the sight of Bankotsu's blood, or why he does not want to hurt him, or why when he sleeps with Bankotsu, sleep is all that occurs, or _even why_ right now, with their bodies pressed together and intertwined, all Jakotsu feels is a small warmth that starts near his chest and spreads its way outwards.

Bankotsu shifts again, and Jakotsu wants to say, _Mou, stop moving, I want to sleep more too._

Oh. Jakotsu's mouth forms a small circle. _Oh_. So that's why.

Jakotsu likes men. He likes men, and he'll later on come to really, _really_ like Inuyasha, but Bankotsu is special. Bankotsu is the only man he will ever love.


End file.
